Recently, I came across this new item that talked about a young girl in a Chennai engineering college who killed herself because she was ticked off for talking to a boy. It wasn’t just the scolding she received which precipitated the suicide, but the fear that her parents would have been informed of her heinous crime – talking to a boy.

Strangely, this new item did not shock me. For those of us who have spent many years in Chennai, the ultra-conservatism of its colleges, especially those offering professional courses, is no news. For years now, many such colleges have enforced rigid, gender-segregation policies. Some of their diktats include no conversation between male and female students and separate seating areas on college buses and in classrooms. Lecturers are asked to strictly enforce these policies and some colleges, like the one in this instance, have even installed cameras to monitor students.

All this is done in the name of ‘preventing distraction’ and asking students to ‘focus on studies’. The fact that college administrators deem 18-20 year olds as incapable of managing their own academic work without coercion, says something about the quality of education these colleges impart. Surely, if they had any confidence in the calibre of their own teaching and infrastructure, they would be confident of enabling students, not coercing them.

Beyond that, there is a deep-rooted fear of ‘children getting spoilt’, and of course, interaction with the opposite sex is held to be the root of all spoiling. Dig deep enough, and at the base is the fear of young people making independent decisions on their own lives – decisions that could challenge long-held beliefs about marrying within the boundaries of caste and social status. Rein the girls in long enough (until they finish studying) and get them married soon after (so that they don’t have time to fall in love with the ‘wrong’ person). College authorities are not isolated tyrants – many are the parents I’ve seen supporting them enthusiastically in their gender-segregation drive.

As young people in India begin making their own decisions – whether it is in the matter of careers or partners, the ire of those in authority becomes manifest. Haryanvi Khap Panchayats and Chennai professional college administrators bear a closer resemblance to each other than may be obvious.

I JUST ATTENDED the Queer Nazariya film festival in Bombay and I loved the experience. In the discussion about queer communities, law and culture, Ponni Arasu, a gay rights activist from Alternative Law Forum, Bangalore, spoke of the need for the queer community in India to redefine itself and its goals after the groundbreaking Delhi High Court judgment against Section 377 of the Indian Constitution which criminalizes homosexuality. In some senses only the idea of being queer can actually encompass the reality of sexual processes. Sex is funny and inescapably queer. I’ve been a part of the amorphous queer community in Bangalore (via workshops at Sangama) and have witnessed the Queer Azadi city marches (vicariously for various reasons) and then the subsequent mobilization around 377. It feels like a beautiful journey and we have a long way to go.

I have claims to this cause, as does everybody. None of us can deny that issues of love and sexuality are wrapped up with belonging and community, and that acceptance is a prerequisite to survival. As a feminist, I have a problem with patriarchal and hetero-normative sexual mores. I feel resuscitated and enlivened by such spaces where there is no barrier on love or the exchange of it.

I thought that the films represented a raw and challenging new post-modern body of work set to redefine norms of seeing, of sex and sexuality, of history and culture. If you want to see where relationships are going in the future then this movement is one of the places to look at. Among the films that stood out were Rex Vs Singh by Ali Kazimi, Richard Fung and John Greyson, Proteus by John Greyson and Jack Lewis and Journey into Kafiristan by Fosco Dubini and Donatello Dubini. The novel series Fucking Different by producer Kristian Peterson which featured work by LGBT (lesbian, gay, bi and transsexual) film-makers on LGBT issues was entertaining.

Curators Smriti Nevatia and Sophie Parisse need to be congratulated  not just for the engaging fare but also for the pertinent concerns that came through: queer activism in the developing world and the need to engage with larger struggles for identity and self determination and against racism and fundamentalisms, religious and otherwise. Aesthetically, queer practices and perspectives create fresh and new ways of expressing and celebrating sexuality, and the films managed to achieve this.

To us!

***
Raheema Begum is an artist, writer, poet and performer based in Mumbai. Her work on labels, an art and entrepreneurial project has looked at the notion of identity with a specific focus on religious identities in the Indian subcontinent. As a feminist, she is deeply interested in deconstructing and dismantling patriarchal structures that inhibit the feminine consciousness and works with dance and dance therapy to break through and heal from sexual violence and subjugation. She can be reached at theunderscoredhood[at]gmail.com and her blog is Kauntext.

Predictably, many of the obituaries focused on the more controversial aspects of her writing and life, particularly where sexuality was concerned, including this one in The Hindu and this one in the New York Times. But as with all lionized public figures, the tendency to reduce a complicated life and body of work to a few choice elements does little justice to the figure her/himself.

Without further comment, then, here is a short documentary in which Das reads and discusses her poems and their inspirations.

Of course, this is partly because one tends to identify with causes where one has personally experienced the problems at hand. So I have experienced harassment on the street by virtue of being a woman. I have experienced a boss telling me that lower raises shouldn’t matter so much to women, since “yours is a second income, anyway!” But even if I have not experienced other kinds of oppression, I should know that they exist, shouldn’t I?

As someone born into an upper caste family, I have never known what it means to be considered “low” because of my caste. Once, when I visited my grandmother’s village, I  went to the Dalit basti, which was set apart from the rest of the village. Here, I talked to many Dalit women, some of whom were startled at my sitting down with them comfortably. Some of them even tried to prevent me. I felt good about not heeding such distinctions and I was surprised that they still had such practices. It didn’t occur to me that they were the ones who could face problems for interacting too closely with an upper-caste city girl who would leave the next day.

As someone born into a middle-class family, I have never faced challenges to my education. How do I understand the plight of a poor family, where any child is unlikely to be sent to school, and a girl child, even less likely? When I talk about challenges at the workplace, my focus is on white collar occupations. A large portion of Indian women, however, are poorly-paid labour in the unorganized sector in hazardous working conditions.

As a heterosexual woman, I had my own challenges in choosing to marry a man outside of my own caste and linguistic group. If I am honest, I must admit that when I think of the right to choose a partner, I largely think of issues where women are coerced or forced into marriages they don’t want. (And yes, emotionally blackmailing your daughter until she gives in also falls in this category). The rights of non-heterosexual people don’t figure as strongly on my mind, although I believe that Article 377 is a law that has no place in any civilized country.

Is my feminism too narrowly defined? I don’t think it is worthless; even if people like me are a relatively elite group, our concerns are not invalid. Further, changes in a small group can act as a catalyst or inspiration for others. Yet, I do believe that feminists like me need to start looking at a broader agenda. I don’t mean this as a criticism of anyone else; it is simply something that I would like to do.

For one thing, in terms of sheer numbers, this English-educated, reasonably affluent, upper caste group is a very small part of our country’s women. So unless we as writers, activists, funders — whatever role we choose to play — address the concerns of a larger group, real change will be slow to happen. It is important to recognise that women are affected in ways beyond gender alone. Remember the witch-hunting of Dalit women? This was the result of a dangerous cocktail — a casteist, hierarchical society together with gender oppression.

Another reason is that feminism as a movement is unlikely to gain support and respect, and in fact, will lose respect if it overlooks these concerns. In the last few months, there has been a huge controversy in the Western blogosphere, regarding the appropriation of material from a black feminist’s blog. One of the outcomes was many women of colour feeling that the “mainstream” feminist movement never really includes their concerns, which often are at an intersection of gender and race. So a feminist movement certainly cannot be exclusive and risk losing some of its best supporters. We have enough unreasonable critics as it is, who persist in viewing feminists as evil, men-hating, power-hungry women.

Finally, this is a moral issue as well. If we fight only the discrimination that affects us, are we not guilty of opportunism? If we believe that discrimination is wrong on principle, we need to be aware of it in all its forms and campaign against them as well.

*This may be very familiar to those feminists who have already proceeded much further on this path than me. It is more from my personal experience and my own feeling of being restricted to a narrow field of vision. For those more enlightened women (and men), who already practise this, I raise my (metaphorical) hat!

On February 18, the body of 15-year old Scarlett Keeling, a British national, was found on a Goan beach. Police initially chalked up her death to drowning after consuming too much alcohol, despite evidence of severe bruising and rape. But investigations and post-mortem investigations revealed contradictory facts, as did eyewitness accounts by people who had seen the girl during her final hours. Scarlett had been in India with her mother Fiona MacKeown, MacKeown’s boyfriend, and her siblings. They were frequent visitors, and on this instance were on a six-month-long trip.

Allegations were quickly leveled against MacKeown for her negligence of Scarlett. The moral higher ground was quickly swamped by those chastising her for her irresponsible behaviour. One whiff of scandal led to another, and details about MacKeown’s private life were dug up. Scarlett’s diary entries were exposed in the media. The bottomline message was that somehow, by choosing to lead lifestyles that included partying, sex and substances, they had asked for the tragedy that befell them. Terms like “alleged murder” were popular, as though it could have been anything else, until today’s gruesome revelation: Scarlett was murdered by having her head held underwater for between five and ten minutes. She asphyxiated to death.

It is alarming to watch the cruelty of the media – from possibly every newspaper in the country to even NDTV’s usually fairly progressive We The People to the blogosphere – and what can be gauged of common opinion by it. Despite the horrifying brutality inflicted on a person who by Indian standards was still a child, and the overwhelming confusion and despair her loved ones are no doubt experiencing, the attacks made against the victim and the family censure them with only superficial demonstrations of sympathy. Political officials in Goa are calling for the revoking of MacKeown’s visa and a ban on her entering the country again, blaming her for maligning the image of the state. She has since gone into hiding, fearing for her life from both the drug mafia and state officials whom she has linked to them.

Scarlett’s boyfriend, an Indian citizen named Julio Lobo, has been taken for medical tests to see if he is “sexually active”. A DNA test of substances found on or in the victim’s body would not be unreasonable, but pray tell, what does his being or not being sexually active reveal about the horrific tragedy? Is it necessary, given that in her diary, Scarlett had written not only that she had sex with him, but that she felt he used her for it? Is there a test that proves sexual activity in males? Or is this like one of those repressed, backward ideas about broken hymens and being able to pee in a straight line? That this person’s private life is being pried into in a manner that is unlikely to shed any light on the senselessness of the incident is nothing more than one of the many ways in which the blame is being pinned on “the wanton Western way”. The boyfriend, we are to assume, has sinned by his affinity to this lifestyle of debauchery, which – we are also to assume – is imported to India by the likes of the Keeling family. But even that doesn’t quite crack it: Lobo is being tested not because of his character – but because of what the conclusiveness of science is meant to tell us about hers.

Lobo, in turn, has retaliated by attacking MacKeown because she had been aware of Scarlett’s lifestyle (but she says Scarlett was neither a binge drinker not drug abuser, to her knowledge). This, too, is reprehensible. At 25 years old, a decade older than Scarlett, his relationship with her could amount to statutory rape. Clearly, prior to the murder, MacKeown’s liberal parenting style benefited him. His attempt to deflect attention from his actual law-breaking by ganging up against the bereaved mother with the rest of the patriarchy squad is sickening.

In other words, the condemning of the murdered girl, her family, her friends, their lifestyles and their choices is a typical misogynist response – the wicked woman gets her dues. And this time, there are not one but two “wicked women”: Fiona MacKeown, mother of not just the victim, but of several more children of “varying paternity”, and Scarlett herself. That the women in question happen to be from the West (that corrupter of our chaste and virtuous ways of life!) is icing on the cake.

Rape, murder, the works – apparently, under the right (or wrong) circumstances, they can all be justified.

Make no mistake. What we see in the media today is not an enquiry into a crime. It is slut-shaming, plain and simple. The nation is not in shock because a 15 year old has been so brutally treated. Those are not the sounds of protest and outrage; they are the sounds of many hands rubbing in glee, so thrilled to be vindicated of their position that women who break the rules deserve what’s coming to them, and what’s coming to them is exactly what happened to Scarlett Keeling.

But what happened to Scarlett Keeling has nothing to do with if she had sex, if she did drugs, if she drank. What happened to Scarlett Keeling has nothing to do with why her mother so frequently chose to travel to India or lived a bohemian, unconventional lifestyle. What happened to Scarlett Keeling has only one reason: some places in the world are not safe for women, not because of culture or tradition, but because of an absence of respect for them as individuals. India is one of them. India killed Scarlett Keeling – and every day, kills many less sensationalized individuals. That Fiona MacKeown has seen this is not delusion on her part.

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]]> http://ultraviolet.in/2008/03/24/the-shaming-of-scarlett-keeling/feed/ 40 http://ultraviolet.in/2007/11/13/the-immorality-of-saying-no-to-sex-education/ http://ultraviolet.in/2007/11/13/the-immorality-of-saying-no-to-sex-education/#comments Tue, 13 Nov 2007 10:05:44 +0000 anita ratnam http://youngfeminists.wordpress.com/2007/11/13/the-immorality-of-saying-no-to-sex-education/ OVER THE YEARS, sex education has been debated either in the context of concerns about population control or AIDS prevention. Does education about sex and sexuality have to be perceived only within the confines of these two arenas? In the wake of the Central Government’s attempts to introduce sex education from Class VI onwards, the refusal of State Governments of Maharashtra, Karnataka and Madhya Pradesh, Gujarat and Chattisgarh has thrown up other issues. It is no accident that these are states with significant Sangh Parivar presence in Government and their refusal stems largely from a perception that sex education will lead to corruption of Indian culture. In the context of their claim to be self proclaimed custodians of this “culture”, proclamations by Karnataka Minister Horatti that sex education will be replaced by morality education comes as no surprise.

While there is a need to openly and rigorously discuss the age-appropriateness of the modules and illustrations in the proposed curriculum, outright refusal to introduce sex education is disconcerting. Yet decisions like these need to be based on hard (even if unpalatable) facts, instead of hypothetical fears and misconceptions.

Firstly, a misconception that sex education is about biology and the sexual act needs to be clarified. Sex education looks at the total persona — our understanding of our bodies, our notions of intimacy in relationships, respect for each other’s autonomy, our evolution as sexual beings, our safety from sexual abuse, the development of a healthy attitude towards ones own sexuality and respect for different sexual orientations. It is also about reproductive health, the institution of marriage and family and the responsibility towards self and society in the context of procreation as well as pleasure. Most importantly, it is about comprehending the gendered socialisations that pave the way for sexual violence against women, children of both sexes and against transgendered communities. Reducing sex education to just education about sex, is an erroneous notion. And yes, it is about culture, a culture of dignity, respect, autonomy and responsibility — surely no one can quarrel with that?

Another fear is that sex education will provoke children to become sexually active. The truth however is that children too (not just adolescents) are sexual beings. Their explorations of their own bodies and childhood sexual play with friends and siblings has been recognised as normal and not dysfunctional behaviour. In a society where we squirm to openly acknowledge even adult sexuality, childhood sexuality has remained a taboo and an enigma.

At the same time, the sexual abuse of children by adults is now recognised as endemic. The study by Samvada, Bangalore in 1994 and National Study conducted by the Ministry of Women and Child Development, UNICEF, and Save the Children in 2007, both note that child sexual abuse in India begins as early as age five, increases dramatically during pre-pubescence and peaks at 12 to 16 years. Twenty-one percent of respondents reported severe sexual abuse like rape, sodomy, fondling or exposure to pornographic material and 53% acknowledged other forms of sexual abuse with over 50% of the abusers being known and trusted adults.

Most of those abused emphasize that they did not understand what was being done to them. A misplaced trust in “family” or respected elders and the abusers’ confidence that the child will not be able to comprehend or disclose the abuse, have set the stage for such abuse and trauma. By not providing sex education that is age-appropriate and sensitive to social structures, governments are compromising the safety and mental health of our precious children.

Also, with 50% of girls in India married before the age of 18 and 40% before the age of 16, it is ironic that adolescent girls are considered ready for marriage, but not for sex education!

Among the economically better off where marriage age is increasing, not only are adolescents vulnerable to sexual abuse, their own sexual experimentation is more covert, loaded with shame and (mis)guided only by pornographic material devoid of emotional and psycho-social contexts of sexuality. Would it not make more sense to help them talk openly about their anxieties and desires?

While AIDs prevention might have led to a wake up call on sex education, the need for sex education goes far beyond the contours of the AIDS problem. The retrograde reaction from Hindutva bastions in the name of morality is both dangerous and distressing. Why is there such a fear of acknowledging sexuality and the problems listed above? Historically, Hindutva ideologues and other conservatives have constructed the Indian cultural nation with the Hindu woman as emanating piety, chastity, devoted wifehood and motherhood and the Hindu man as chaste and virtuous. As a response to colonial attempts to codify and change personal laws and practices that violated human rights, revivalists pressed for a subordination of domestic issues in the interests of “nation” formation. The revival of brahmanic patriarchy and control over men and women’s sexuality became central to establishing a national identity. Any domestic issues were blithely obfuscated as culture and problems of women attributed to rapacious, invader Muslims and thus externalised.

Today, attempts by our own government to address real problems caused by sexual ignorance are once again seen by these ideologues as “western” invasion that threatens our cultural identity and morality. Are we willing to place the honour of an imagined community before basic human rights, desires and safety of our children and youth? Is this morality?

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Menstruation is a topic that is very rarely talked about in any public space. Although experienced by a little less than half a billion people in India, any conversation or debate about the same is conducted within the confines of one’s home, more specifically, the bathroom, and only between members of the gender experiencing it. Mothers and daughters. Sisters-in-law. Aunts and nieces. Grandmothers remembering how it was in their day. Most Indian cultures have initiation rituals connected to menarche, with the girl being made aware that her body has changed and there’s no going back. It is considered a matter of joy, this newfound maturity, her entry into the baby-making force of the world. Some girls have older female members of the family explain what their bodies are going through. Others are left to discover it for themselves when they wake up one fine day to find parts of themselves bleeding. But with each individual experience of menarche, a girl knows that something has changed. Irretrievably so. And no matter which way she views herself, the world will look at her differently from now on.

Once the wheel is set in motion, however, very little mind space is accorded to this 28-day occurrence in a woman’s life. Which is fine by most people. I’ll take that any day over snide remarks about PMS and “that time of the month” every time someone wants to blame their stupidity on my hormones. But what I cannot comprehend is the public shame factor attached to a natural bodily process. The embarrassed, subdued tones in which one is expected to ask the shopkeeper for one’s needs. (Thank the Lord for supermarkets now!) And the supposedly respectful way they wrap your fluid-absorption device of choice in a newspaper, assuming you wouldn’t want the world to know you’re a normally functioning woman. With that logic, if I am pregnant, am I to hide the bump so people don’t realize I was sexually active? Is my body going through the natural cycles to cause shame to society? I know people from my mother’s generation who won’t even go up to a chemist and ask for napkins directly. They’ll send household help to do “the deed”. Er…why exactly? Are we too la-di-da to have a normally functioning reproductive system?

Of course, I own up to days when I curse the whole darn mess. And grumble about having to go through the inconvenience of it all. But at the end of the day, it is part of my body. And I refused to be ashamed of the way nature made me. Especially when I have been endowed with the ability to procreate because of it. Whether I choose to have babies in the future is an entirely separate issue. But for now, I will not have my sexuality cloistered under newspaper wrappers because it may offend the world that I am a reproductively healthy woman. So I walk into the corner store, head held high, ask for my usual brand firmly and unhesitatingly say “no, thank you” to the surprised assistant who is all set to secret away my stash. That the product itself is called ‘Whisper’ should tell you something about society’s attitude toward one of the most important human bodily functions we have.

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